In the Moment
by DaphneRunning
Summary: In the moment, Levi always wants it to hurt, and his cravat will hide Irvin's love bites in the morning.


In the moment, Levi always likes it to hurt.

He's not great about taking pleasure without some pain, and Irvin knows that better than anyone.

(_Better than you should_, says his conscience, but he's thrown that out the window long ago. Fat lot of good conscience ever did anyone outside the wall. At least Levi's old enough now, even if he wasn't always.)

In the moment, he starts squirming and snapping, growling if Irvin doesn't give him what he wants-and what he wants is always—

"Harder."

Sometimes they're just kissing. Levi refuses to sit on his lap unless he's drunk or exhausted, and Irvin isn't enough of a bastard to press the issue, no matter how good he feels there. Levi leans over instead, slouched in his chair so low Irvin has to bend to reach his mouth, and Levi wants him to bite. There's something a little broken in Levi, that demands more than a kiss, more than a touch, fingernails and teeth along with lips and palms.

"Fucking harder."

Levi is a little shit, and it wouldn't be the first time Irvin's slapped him around for it. "Watch your mouth, boy," he growls, tangling a hand in the short strands of Levi's hair.

Levi just looks up at him, eyes lidded, a challenge in their depths. "You like it better when I don't."

He does, just like Levi likes him to bite and scratch and grab, but that doesn't mean he's going to be obvious about it. Levi's still got to learn the chain of command until it's internalized, until it's second-nature.

(Irvin doubts he ever will. Levi will always question him, and it's for the best. He's not trying to make the boy into a puppet, not even a soldier, but a leader. They'll all see his reasons one day.)

Levi's only half-hard in his pants when Irvin starts palming him. That's not unusual for him; Levi's so slow to let the tension out, it makes him slow to rise. He eyes the cravat around Levi's neck, making a mental note of just how high he can let the marks go.

Then he unties it, rips it off, and fastens his mouth to the skin there, nipping and sucking. Levi's cock twitches in his hand, filling out as he strokes, but more accurately as he bites. The boy lets out a hiss, a curse Irvin wouldn't repeat to 90 percent of the men he knows, and his hips twitch up hard.

That's the key to Levi, at least when they're like this. He ignores the progressively more obscene words falling from the boy's mouth in favor of tossing him over the arm of the couch. For a split second, Levi forgets what they're doing and catches himself, bracing off the couch with one hand and one bent leg, eyes wild and startled before he remembers where they are.

Irvin wraps a strong arm around his waist, tugs on an earlobe with his teeth, and hisses, "Relax, Levi. It's just me."

"I know," Levi hisses, angry at himself, and his whole body is tense again. "Do it again. I got surprised."

Levi fights too many things that are bigger than himself. His reflexes are too good. It takes an effort of will to let himself be thrown over a couch, even when he wants it. Irvin holds him still, an iron arm around his waist, yanking him back to feel that entire slight body pressed up against his, and kisses him firmly for a solid minute before letting him go again. Levi's eyes are glazed, and he blinks, nods once, and goes mostly limp.

(That's for the best, because Irvin has no clue when a titan is going to smash down even these walls. Mostly relaxed is the best any of them can hope for in this world.)

The trade-off is that Irvin has to be the one that undresses them, because Levi has his hands full being pinned down, hard and straining against his pants, breathing coming in shallow, breathy pants. That's fine; he's been taking care of Levi for years anyway. At least they aren't wearing any gear right now.

Levi is getting impatient again by the time Irvin presses up behind him, skin against skin, and he can feel that lean, whipcord sinew over bone that makes up Levi's entire mass, slight as it is. He bites Levi's neck again, and the boy twitches, jerks in his arms before going limp. "Better," Levi groans, and shoves back against him. "More, dammit."

"More what?"

"You know! Fuck you!"

His next curse gets caught in his throat when Irvin pinches his ass hard, then slides a hand around to pinch and tug at one nipple. His breath leaves in a huff, and he strains against Irvin's hands-not to press up against them, but to get away, to force him to tug and pull even more.

Irvin slides up, getting Levi higher over the couch arm, dodging another flurry of curses when Levi's feet don't touch the floor anymore, and lets his cock drag up between the boy's thighs. Levi spreads his legs instantly, robbing him of the friction, and Irvin deals his ass a swat. "I was enjoying that."

"Hate it," Levi grunts, and Irvin sees the way his hands claw into the ratty cushions of his couch. "Boring. Messy. Put it the fuck in me, you cocksucking cun—"

"Watch it."

Levi shuts up after another slap to his ass, but his hips rut back, seeking, desperate. Damn, Irvin had wanted to take him like that, between his legs, because they never know when they'll be called out, and if Levi is only a half-second slower because they've fucked, that's a lover Irvin's murdered.

But Levi won't have it any other way, and he never listens at times like this.

"Fine," Irvin mutters. He grabs for the oil, and finds it far more conveniently placed than he remembers. "Did you bring this out?"

"Wanted you." The words would be pretty in another mouth. From Levi, they're almost dry. "While I'm still young."

"Impatient brat." Levi doesn't deny it, and when Irvin palms himself, slicking up with oil, he has to rethink just who the impatient one is. All thatwriggling Levi does gets to him, makes him harder than he probably should be for one of his subordinates, and the half-sleepy look the boy casts back over his shoulder makes him lurch forward, rubbing against the cleft of Levi's ass as he spreads his legs further apart.

(The first few months, Levi had let Irvin open him up slowly on a few fingers, had tolerated the slow stretching because Irvin told him it was just part of sex. It hadn't been long before he'd started swatting that hand away, demanding a fuck, not some pussy tender shit. No matter how many times it's been, Irvin still feels guilty for giving him what he wants.)

In the moment, there's nothing better than grabbing Levi's hair and yanking him back, dragging the boy onto his cock as he presses inexorably forward. Logic tells him Levi is too small, but the boy takes cock as good as anyone he's ever known, writhing on it and rutting back for more, all curses driven out of his filthy mouth by the stretching fullness of it all.

In the field, they trust each other. Levi listens, which anyone who'd known him long ago would have thought was a miracle. Irvin listens too, and between them, they manage to piece together solutions that sometimes let people survive.

Here, it's less about keeping everyone alive and more about giving Levi what he needs, what they both need on some level.

He yanks Levi's hips back, satisfied when he gets a startled yelp. He has to quell the sudden, momentary urge to stop, to look around, to kill whatever made Levi make that noise-Levi isn't the only one who's jumpy after all this time on the front lines. He has to bend to get his lips to the back of Levi's neck, mouthing soft kisses as he slams in hard, but it's worth the strain to his back. It's worth it, because it means a lot to Irvin that he's still able to feel like this for anyone. Someday, probably after he's gone, Levi can remember those kisses and remember what it was like not to be so cold, and know that's as happy an ending as anyone gets in this world.

Levi lets out a choked gasp, something more like a snarl than a whimper, and pitches forward, shaking like a leaf. He tries to ride it out, and that just makes the trembling worse, tense as he is. Irvin has to pick him up, hold him steady to finish, spilling deep inside with a low groan, bent into a tight bow over Levi's back.

For long moments, breath is the only sound in the room. Levi's is short and urgent, Irvin's deep and faster than usual, both of them sweaty, clinging to something, Levi to the couch, Irvin to Levi.

Then Irvin starts to pull back, knowing that Levi will whine about it and try to cling to him. He does, wriggling around, face twisted in a grimace as he clings on to Irvin's neck, aiming a sloppy kiss somewhere close to his mouth. The boy is warm, and sweeter than anyone with such a filthy mouth has a right to be. He's not a boy either, not anymore, no matter what Irvin's mind still calls him for some reason.

(_Because you never get to see most of them grow into men_.)

After the moment passes, Levi gets pissy about the scrapes, the bruises, the marks. Irvin's caught him in the shower more than once, trying to scrub them off. He glares at Irvin, slapping his hands away when he tries to touch them. "Stupid old man," he grouses, easing himself down onto the couch with what's definitely exaggerated concern. "You won't be happy unless I've got a wide-open dripping asshole."

Irvin doesn't bother to argue. Levi isn't stupid, he just hates his own habits sometimes, at least until he needs them again.

And when he does, Irvin will be here, waiting.

Until one of them doesn't show up.


End file.
